


Therapy

by noodlebunny



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Nightmares, theres a dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 15:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13437558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlebunny/pseuds/noodlebunny
Summary: “Hey, Al,” Ed says, stepping up to the bedside, “I got us a dog.”





	Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> uhh i wrote this for an anon on tumblr very late at night/very early in the morning depending on how u look at it
> 
> post promised day
> 
> yeah, i named the dog after tringham

Ed’s trudging his way to the hospital canteen when Lieutenant Hawkeye pulls him aside and, very seriously and completely flatly, asks him if he’s ever considered getting a dog.

“I... no? Not really?” Is this happening? More importantly, _why_ is this happening, and why to him in particular, and how can he make it stop? “I mean—I grew up around one, I guess, but we didn’t, um—when Al and I were travelling, we couldn’t really... y’know,” Ed finishes, rather lamely. Ah, there goes any scrap of dignity he might have retained in the eyes of the Lieutenant. Farewell, dignity.

She nods sagely, her expression sympathetic, as if Ed’s inability to own a dog is a great anguish to her personally.

“I understand,” she says, looking at him like he’s yet to see the light. “Dogs need much love and attention, which you couldn’t provide beforehand. Now, however, would be a perfect time to do so.”

“It... would?” Ed is so, so lost. He just wanted some coffee, and maybe some toast, and then he would’ve slunk back up to Al’s room where they’d chat endlessly about hilarious romance novels and rare bird species and obscure crochet patterns and whatever the hell else Al felt like today.

“Indeed,” confirms the Lieutenant. “Dogs are widely known for their intelligence, companionship and empathy. You boys, I believe, would benefit.”

Ed clears his throat. “You suggesting, like... a therapy dog?”

“Properly trained, it could also aid Alphonse during his recovery process.”

That’s... not a half bad idea. Al does like animals. Does he like cats or dogs more, though? No, that’s stupid, the kid’s heart’s so fucking big that he probably fawns over both in equal portions...

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” Ed says, “I’ll look into it.”

“No need. I’ll find you a trained dog within the week.”

“Oh. Um, okay, thanks—but really, I know you’re busy, so don’t go outta your way or anything—”

The Lieutenant disappears down the hallway with a dynamic _swoosh_ of her cavalry skirt. It even makes the noise.

Ed can’t help but feel like he just dug himself a hole, lay in it, and then possibly covered it with dirt himself.

* * *

“Hey, Al,” Ed says, stepping up to the bedside, “I got us a dog.”

Very gradually and very slowly, Al looks up from his book. He blinks owlishly, then looks to Ed, then down towards the dog at his side, and then up to Ed again.

“That... is a dog,” Al says eventually.

“Yeah,” Ed says. “It’s a dog.”

“Alright,” the Lieutenant interrupts from the doorway, “This is a highly engaging exchange, but I’m afraid I have to be going now, boys.” True to her word, she turns and departs, which Ed only knows because of a tell-tale _swoosh_.

“Do you... like the dog?” Ed says, tentative; maybe he should’ve consulted with Al about the whole thing first? At the time, it seemed like a nice surprise.

“I do,” Al says, and his mouth curls up at the edges a bit, and his eyes crinkle in a way that means he’s probably imagining what adorable name the dog has, and what adorable names he’ll give to the many adorable puppies when they inevitably happen. It’s painful to watch frail bones poke at the papery skin of his arm as he reaches out for the dog to sniff at his palm, and for a black moment Ed is spiked with the urge to yank the mutt away—out of this room, as far away as fucking possible—because his brother’s only small and brittle and child-sized; no armour, no fight, only spindly bones in stretches of flesh that Ed could snap between his thumb and forefinger, and in the jaws of an animal—

The dog licks Al’s thin hand with a gentle, slobbery tongue, and Al hums a laugh.

“What’s their name?” Al says, giving one last scratch to its chin before retracting his arm with a pained wince. He’s not supposed to be using his arms even that much yet. Of course, when Alphonse Elric disobeys doctor’s orders, it’s to pet a goddamn dog.

“He’s called Russell,” Ed supplies, and the collie’s head snaps up at his name. Initially, Hawkeye had suggested a yellow Labrador, but Ed’s mind fell into clouded thoughts of long brown braids and short blond fur, tangling together, matting with blood, a growl and girl’s voice—

Ed remembers asking, a little weakly, for anything but. Hawkeye seemed to get it. She always does.

“Oh, you’re so cute, aren’t you, Russell?” Al’s pet voice is ridiculous. He sounds ridiculous. Ed’s cheeks hurt from grinning. “No offence, brother, but this is very out of character for you.”

“What is?”

Al gestures at the dog.

Ed shrugs and rubs his neck. “Hawkeye suggested it. He’s, uh, able to do basic tasks an’ stuff—he’ll help you walk, too, and if you fall then he’ll be there.” Ed taps Russell’s yellow jacket with _SERVICE DOG_ emblazoned in bold black letters. “He’s trained with therapy stuff as well.”

“Not just for me, then,” Al says with a small smile that just hints at melancholy. Ed’s chest tightens, and his hand finds Russell’s black fur, fisting in it, but there’s so much of it that it’s unlikely to be painful. He strokes, working his fingers through knots, and he feels—

—Better.

“Yeah,” Ed says, “He’s both of ours problem now.”

* * *

Ed wakes drenched in blood and screaming his lungs out of his chest.

It’s dark, pitch-dark, and he doesn’t know where he is, only that he’s covered with something heavy, and every inch of him is wet and sticky and too-warm. He can smell blood so cloyingly that he gags, retching, fingers scrambling at his leg and arm to check they’re still there. He finds metal and flesh—good, okay—but now he has to calm his breathing; it’s hitching and catching in his throat like crushed glass, but at least he isn’t screaming anymore—at least, he doesn’t think he is—

Something warm touches his hand, nuzzling into the palm, and Ed shrinks back with a gasp.

The warm comes closer. Ed tries to inch further away, but he feels fur, and a wet tongue, and suddenly he’s gasping breaths into Russell’s neck as he wraps his arms around him. A nose is cold on the side of his neck.

When the door creaks, Ed burrows further in the dog-warmth, chest rattling. The low bedside lamp flicks on, and looking now, Ed sees the blood is a thick layer of sweat. His cheeks heat.

He’s at home, in bed.

Fucking hell.

“Hey, brother,” Al says, setting his cane aside—this is exactly why Ed moved rooms, so he wouldn’t wake Al up with his bullshit while he still needs every second of sleep he can get his frail hands on. The bed creaks as it takes extra weight, but not much. “Nightmare?”

Ed hums, and pries his sticky face from Russell’s fur. It takes every ounce of effort to push a weak smile, and he mutters, “Go back to bed, Al. ‘M fine now.” Damn his traitorous fucking shaky voice.

Al frowns, and his eyebrows do this crease-thing in the middle, and it’s cute. It’s less cute when he plucks a tissue from his pyjama pocket and wipes at Ed’s mouth.

“You bit your tongue,” he says, pulling the white tissue back red.

“Oh.” Guess that explains the blood smell.

Ed feels sick.

Russell licks his face. Ed always thought it’d be disgusting, but now he’s on the receiving end of the tongue, it’s actually kind of comforting, in a weird salivary sort of way. The covers lift, and Al slips under too, settling with his chin on Russell’s head.

“I would hug you right now, but there’s a dog between us,” Al says around a yawn.

“I’m going to be finding fur in my bed for weeks,” Ed snorts.

It’s possible that he doesn’t mind the hole he’s dug himself.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading wow uhhh pls kudos if u enjoyed id really love it! comments make my week!! they also make me weak


End file.
